


against time, with time, for time and time again, we grow.

by ninanna



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninanna/pseuds/ninanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of departures and meetings, growing apart and growing up and growing close against time, with time, for time and time again. Of two people and one thin red line that crosses the oceans and connects across a continent, not with an epic journey or tragedy of love, but a healing friendship that ends up becoming something more and more and more…</p>
            </blockquote>





	against time, with time, for time and time again, we grow.

When he officially leaves, it’s spring; cherry blossoms paint a lovely picture but the truth is he has left long ago already and there’s nothing nice about departures, the invisible bridge between souls breaking.

 

He avoids looking at Akashi’s face those last few weeks, in the rare times when they come across each other in the hallways or the yard, because he’s superstitiously afraid that he’ll see something bewitching and be cursed forever—forever dreaming about that delicate face and innocently predatory gaze.

 

* * *

 

 

It is summer when they see each other again. As if the years have not passed and it’s merely the next season of their life.

 

Akashi has grown; much taller now but still a good head shorter than Nijimura who himself has grown taller long ago. The LA sun has bestowed an almost permanent tan to Nijimura but Akashi is as pale as ever. He is also as polite as ever as he talks on and on, skilfully articulating the importance of appreciating momentary but beautiful things in life. Nijimura hates his sister for dragging him along to this tea ceremony event at the Japanese Consulate and it’s not only because he is not very fond of matcha or long social affairs that require impeccable etiquette, but for the fact that Akashi is there and this time, in a moment of weakness, he has looked at Akashi’s face.

 

He has seen those eyes a thousand times in the past but they gleam a bit differently now. They are, however, as mesmerising as before. When Akashi has finished his speech, Nijimura already knows that his demise is sealed.

 

He is self-conscious that the blaring of his pulse is audible to Akashi as well, when the redhead approaches him and his sister at the end of the ceremony. He should be over this. He is not a teenager anymore. He has had quite a few girlfriends and boyfriends since middle school. He is an adult now, he has a—thank God—healthy father, he has a loving family, he has a degree in Electrical Engineering, he has a promising career, and he is not even thirty yet. Howbeit, when Akashi smiles to him, slightly and with sad yearning, a very obvious embodiment of what people call “nostalgia” carved onto those lips, Nijimura finds himself to be a middle schooler once more.

 

Later, he cannot recall a single word of their small talk but the fact that Akashi asked his phone number and he gave it. He blames this blunder on Akashi’s eyes for making him obey—those eyes, those enchanting eyes.

 

It’s autumn when Akashi ends up in front of his door. The 1st of November, 01:36 am to be exact. Nijimura is surprised.

 

He is surprised because Akashi literally lives across the country in New York. He is surprised, because despite having money to do it, Akashi is not the type to fly thousands of miles away on a whim, without luggage or anything but just the clothes on his person. He is surprised, because the last time they spoke on skype, Akashi sounded fine, even smiled tenderly to the camera while recounting the date plans he had for his girlfriend—Nijimura listened, his heart churning and aching, but he listened; wondered but kept silent. He is surprised, because he hasn’t heard from Akashi in over a week and missed him but not in a million years he expected to find him at his own doorstep, after midnight.

 

Nijimura is surprised because Akashi’s eyes are red and still wet and in all the years Nijimura has known Akashi, he has never seen him shed a single tear. It is beautiful as much as it is a blasphemy. An exquisite transgression. Nijimura is surprised. Nijimura is terrified. Nijimura is awed. Nijimura welcomes Akashi into his modest apartment with these sentiments.

 

“I’m gay…” Akashi admits an hour and a shower later. He is not looking at Nijimura but the half full cup of ginger blended black tea in his hand.

 

“I know…” Nijimura replies in a soft voice. He regrets it right away, thinking his bluntness has caused him to be rude once again. Akashi, however, smiles, fondly, bitterly, and continues:

 

“Yes and you also know that I had a crush on you back then.”

 

Nijimura feels uncomfortable. How the many years old repressed emotions break through him, so calmly and nonchalantly, disturbing his peace of mind and confidence alike.

 

“I’ll never be a good son for him.” Akashi states then and Nijimura is both relieved that the topic has changed and hurt because he thinks if anyone deserves an award for being the best son, it is Akashi Seijuurou.

 

“You’re a good son. A great one in fact.” He asserts without a trace of doubt shadowing his voice. It is only then Akashi turns to look at him and those eyes that are forever so certain, so piercing, so proud are now veiled with a surprised daze, content and appreciating. When he mumbles a shy “thank you”, Nijimura can hardly keep himself from pulling him close and hugging tightly. He believes, just how he is filled with this overgrown crush inside, there is much longing and affection kept lidded inside Akashi’s chest as well and Nijimura would like to receive them onto himself like a downpour, to be drenched in every shade of emotion that Akashi has to offer—could never offer anyone else but him. And in return, he could do his best to give solace and shelter to this dear person in his own heart, in his own arms.

 

But it is too early.

 

It is too early and too improper and too sudden. Akashi needs him differently now. Who knows if Akashi will want him as something more than a friend, again? The unresolved feelings bottled up inside may not necessarily translate to decisions now. Thus, Nijimura keeps his hands to himself and grimaces at the empty cup Akashi is holding now.

 

“I’ll refill it…” He says and Akashi nods a “thank you” and Nijimura could swear to his grandmother’s grave that there’s hope somewhere in that simple phrase.

 

The three days Akashi stays at his home are the singlemost awkward and delightful days of his life. Akashi has bed hair, Nijimura learns thanks to them. Akashi likes the foliage of the East Coast during fall and talks of it fondly, confessing that he could never live in the West Coast, even though he could appreciate the lack of a freezing winter. Akashi is a good listener and a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, Nijimura discovers in the sweetest possible way. Akashi murmurs nothings in his sleep and does not check price tag of anything he buys. All the little things Nijimura learns, all the little things they share; this Akashi who is so alike the Akashi he knew years ago but also definitely different. This Akashi who carefully checks the time twice a day before taking his medication; this Akashi whose eyes sometimes flash with a deadly vainglory; this Akashi Nijimura is helplessly falling for…

 

Akashi leaves after three days but his scent lingers for a few more, and his presence is equally strong in the following days, weeks even. Winter comes without much fuss to LA and coincidentally Nijimura receives the first ‘selfie’ from Akashi: the redhead is standing in front of a mound of snow, his complexion a lovely pink due to the cold and he’s smiling. There is a sardonic joke too in the message he receives but it is not because of that joke that Nijimura stares at the photo for over ten seconds, unabashedly grinning even though he’s at work, where his smiles are unheard of.

 

Winter means December has come and December means Akashi’s birthday.  Nijimura sends a bag of that ginger tea Akashi had liked a lot while he stayed over. In response, Akashi sends a photo of himself nursing a delicate porcelain cup of the brewed tea; his eyes are half-lidded, obviously smelling the tangy aroma rising from the cup. Nijimura’s chest hurts and when he makes himself a cup of the same tea that night, he’s whistling to the tune of an old love song his mother used to sing in the kitchen.

 

Winter means December has come and December means Christmas. Nijimura sends a pair of red gloves to Akashi and even though it was meant to be sort of a joke, Akashi is genuinely happy with the gift. Nijimura imagines holding Akashi’s hands, covered with crimson wool that matches his hair and eyes; the colour that is so Akashi that it consumes Nijimura sometimes, just like Akashi does, unknowingly, obliviously, yet with grace. Akashi, on the other hand, sends him a stress ball as a Christmas present. It is yellow and has a smiley face with weirdly emphasised eyelashes and reminds him of Kise. Nijimura wonders if Akashi thought the same.

 

For New Year’s, Akashi returns back to their beloved country to visit his father and extended family. The first week of January, Nijimura receives a text from Akashi. It is 5 am back in the homeland and it says “I missed you” and Nijimura’s stomach drops. Because he is happy but he is also concerned; Akashi is not the type that is very comfortable at expressing feelings. He calls Akashi and they talk; young heir does not mention anything about his family but a very exhausted, “I don’t feel at home at home.” It’s enough for Nijimura—he says with caution and urgent care: “Then you build yourself a home—a new home for you.”

 

The few seconds Akashi waits silently, Nijimura cannot breathe. But when Akashi speaks again, his voice is serene and certain: “Yes, Nijimura-san. Yes, I intend to.”

 

February is eventless. Akashi drowns himself with work and Nijimura feels a bit lonely. He feels a bit needy and foolish for expecting too much in return for only baby steps of romantic foray into this enigmatic thing they have going on with Akashi, who is himself a mysterious puzzle. He says nothing though; Akashi has always had too much pressure on him and Nijimura would hate to add to that. Indeed, he only ever wanted to take some of Akashi’s burden, never to make it heavier.

 

Spring crawls in with drizzles and tiny flowers sprouting from naked branches. In late March, Nijimura receives a ticket in his email inbox: a round-trip to Washington D.C.

 

“What are you trying to pull?” He chastises Akashi on the phone but the little prince who is the bane of Nijimura’s existence is infuriatingly aloof.

 

“Cherry blossoms.” He says, as if it explains everything. “I’ve always wanted to watch them with you.”

 

Nijimura is speechless. He answers “okay” with great difficulty as his heart hops around like hyperactive toddler, reaching up to his throat.

 

It is even worse when they actually meet, on that fateful day of March 29th.

 

Akashi insisted on meeting at the park and it takes two phone calls and half a dozen messages for Nijimura to locate exactly where Akashi is.

 

It is worse, because Akashi is standing near a heavenly tree and staring at it with captivated eyes; Nijimura loses his capacity for speech once more. Nijimura loses his capacity for thinking, in fact. Childishly, he wants to be viewed as such too. Childishly, he wants to capture this scene and treasure it forever. Childishly, he shouts and Akashi turns to regard him, and thankfully, amazingly, the gaze in those crimson eyes is equally taken, equally affectionate, and there and then Nijimura recognises that Akashi has followed his advice.

 

“Hey…” he says again as he pads closes and Akashi smiles, only happily, only lovingly this time, not a trace of sadness on his pretty face. “Hey,” he answers, voice calm, secure, elated, and adds, “I’m home.”

 

There are no cherry blossoms on earth that are as beautiful as the blush Akashi’s cheeks bloom, Nijimura decides.


End file.
